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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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I met my tattoo artist when I was 21 and decided to plan my large custom back piece with someone who had the best of reputations. I went to the studio for the first time and met this slightly aloof and arrogant man, he was unremarkable looking and quite serious. Those were my first impressions anyway.
So we sat down with some photo's I had taken and discussed what I wanted and he sketched up some ideas. For some reason watching him using his wonderful hands so deftly and skilfully entranced me.
His fingers moved fast over several blank pages, creating what was in his mind for perhaps 30 minutes as I sat close to him as we chatted and he drew. During the course of this chat I realised him to be quick-witted, articulate and boy did he have a great smell, not fragrance, just his own smell.
However this guy was 20 years my senior and took his work very seriously so I wasn't so bold as to flirt.
Session over he asked me to come back a few days later and some stencilled designs could be placed over my back, hips and stomach to see how I felt about it.
So I returned and as the tattoo would partially cover my ass I needed to disrobe to a certain degree. I was fumbling somewhat with my clothes, suddenly my fine motor skills had deserted me. He looked at me and took me by my shoulders over to the mirror and just undid my last jeans button and pulled my jeans and knickers down the exact amount he needed to to apply the stencil. He then set to work and after peeling back the stencil, got another mirror to show me the outline. I was happy and ready to make appointments for the 4 x 2 hour sessions.
I dressed as he tidied up and as he walked past me, seemingly lost in his own thoughts he stopped, tucked my hair behind my ear whilst looking me right in the eyes and then just carried on. That was like a jolt of electricity through me. My head was suddenly in a spin and my heart pounded in my throat. He had left me there in the studio wondering what the hell had just happened.
I picked up my coat and walked through to the reception suddenly nervous but still in a heightened state. He picked up his diary and ear-marked some dates, back to being aloof and business-like. I went to leave and he said to me "See you next week, wear white underwear" and returned to his writing.
So I walked out of there reeling, and totally thrilled.
A week passes and I pick out a favourite set of white underwear and present myself for the first session, the whole of the black outline. So I'm told to just lie down on the bed face down and unbutton my jeans and that we were gonna start on the spine and ass, the body of the bird. He put a little cushion under my stomach to slightly curve my back and then he leant around my front and proceeded to pull down my jeans slowly and exposed all of my ass. "Oh good" he said dispassionately as he did the same with my white thong which was tiny and laced up the back. Returning to his task he asked me was I ready and the discomfort began and we chatted easily about our lives.
Towards the end of the first hour he asked did I need to stop and I said I was fine. He pulled my jeans down just a little more and carefully tucked paper beneath my thong to keep the ink and blood off it. He did some inking on my ass cheeks and used a water spray to wash away the blood and suddenly I felt a cool blast of this little water jet right between my legs. He didn't speak. He just took some paper and dried off around my thong before carrying on. He did it again a few minutes later. This time he didn't wipe it away, he just left me there damp. I was like a coiled spring, not speaking, scared rigid but also totally turned-on. In fact I had never been so turned on.
Some minutes passed and he talked a little more as he worked and then he said we were nearly done, right as he said it he slipped his hand down between my legs and a finger went straight in to my soaking wet hole, he did it so effortlessly the shock made my legs stiffen and I gasped. He slowly worked his finger back and forth a few times inside me and then just as I started to react to his movements, he stopped. I heard him suck his finger, noisily and I think for effect. "We're done, stand up for me please" So I stand up and he carefully cleans me and covers the fresh ink up to protect it. He gives me some water and leaves the room. I am quite confused. This guy has just fingered my wet cunt and he's acting like nothing happened. The same routine, this time I pay him and he reminds me the next appointment is 10am. "Come at 8am, I'll make you a coffee and I've cleared my appointments"
What does this mean? It can only mean one thing and I had neither the inclination nor the will to stop it.
At 8am I arrive and he has to unlock the studio when I ring the bell. We walk up the stairs in silence after he locks the outside door again. We get inside the reception and he locks and bolts the upstairs door and turns to me and says "I'm going make you beg for an orgasm" This is the first time I saw his face with a completely wanton expression.
I wont dwell too long on the sexual acts, it was the confident seduction of a naturally dominant man that's the thrill but true to his word he did have me a sobbing wreck begging for an orgasm three hours later from a combination of licking and touching without enough intent, withholding fucking and mental torment. I never did get around to that last session that day but I did discover just how much I get turned on being controlled by a man and how I love having my mind toyed with. |
Great write up 
